


a love like that

by daisylincs



Series: Agents of Birthdays [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Agents of Birthdays, Alternate Universe - Cinderella Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fairytale Retelling, Dancing, F/M, FitzSimmonsing, Gift Fic, Happy Birthday AgentManatee!!, Romance, Science, True Love, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26567794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisylincs/pseuds/daisylincs
Summary: As an engineer, Fitz knows his way around better than most other people could ever hope for. As a prince, though… not so much. He is sick and tired of simpering princesses, and his patience is wearing thin - is itso badthat he just wants some kind of intelligent conversation? Then he meets a mysterious princess in blue…A Fitzsimmons Cinderella AU
Relationships: Leo Fitz & Jemma Simmons & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Series: Agents of Birthdays [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1886911
Comments: 26
Kudos: 56





	a love like that

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AgentManatee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentManatee/gifts).



> Dear @agentmanatee, 
> 
> Tumblr is such a wonderful thing, don’t you think? It’s a place where it’s possible to know very little about someone, but still smile every time you see their URL.
> 
> That’s how I feel about you - I can’t say that you and I know each other particularly personally, but we share a fandom and a love for two science dorks, and that’s enough, isn’t it? Having a common interest _connects_ you, even if you’ve never interacted much other than reading through each other’s posts and theories. 
> 
> And that’s something really special, I think.
> 
> This story is actually something I’ve had rattling around in my head for a while, and when you mentioned liking Fairytale AUs, I was just like, _boom,_ I know exactly what to do. This became one of those rare instances where an entire fic just flowed right onto the page - and you know what, dedicating it to you feels _right,_ because you’ve formed a part of this very special experience I’ve had on Tumblr and in the Agents of SHIELD fandom.
> 
> I mean, sure, maybe it’s not the biggest part - but it’s still a _part,_ and as Daisy says way back in season 1, it takes 100 people with a fraction of the solution to build a whole. 
> 
> You’re one of those fractions, and without you, the whole would have been a little less complete - so yes, I feel quite simply _delighted_ to be able to dedicate this to you today.
> 
> A mini disclaimer, though: the science in this is so inaccurate it's not even funny. When I was writing this, I vaguely went with a Regency-ish sort of period, and I… realised half-way through that I have no idea what kind of tech they had at that time. I was also too lazy to do much in-depth research, so… yay for vagueness. Also yay for smashing chemical names together even if you have no idea if you're actually making an explosion, lol. To all the actual scientists out there: I am Sorry™.
> 
> Now with no further ado: I wish you an _incredibly_ happy birthday today, and I really do hope you enjoy this story!! To pieces solving a puzzle. 💜

"Fitz, dear, are you almost ready for tonight?" his mother's voice asked from the doorway. 

Fitz froze in the middle of tinkering with his latest model for a steam-powered train, looking up guiltily to meet his mother's gaze. "Uh…" 

She clicked her tongue disapprovingly as she walked into his chamber. "You haven't even _started_ getting ready yet, have you?" 

Caught in the act. "Uh, no," he admitted, ducking his head to look shame-facedly at the floor. 

His mother sighed, walking over to card her fingers through his hair, giving him a fond but exasperated look. "Fitz, sweetheart," she began, and he knew he was in trouble. She only began with _Fitz, sweetheart_ when things were really bad. 

"I don't really need to tell you how much this kingdom has suffered, economically and politically, since your father's abdication," his mother said, her fingers stilling in his hair as she looked out the window, over at the city sprawled out below them. 

"I know it's not your comfort zone," she continued, drawing in a quick, deep breath to bolster herself, "but sweetheart, you _have_ to go to the ball tonight, and you have to at least _try_ and find a princess that you like the look of." 

"We _need_ an alliance, Fitz," his mother finished, soft but urgent. "This kingdom is getting weaker by the day, and if we don't do something about it very soon, many of our people will lose their livelihoods and sink into complete poverty." 

"I know, Mum," he said through the thick lump that had formed in his throat. "I know." 

She squeezed his shoulder, and in her reflection in the large window, he could see that her eyes were sympathetic. "It doesn't have to be right away," she said in an attempt to lighten the mood - but it didn't succeed, because Fitz knew that it did, in fact, have to be right away. 

As though sensing the direction of his thoughts, his mother squeezed his shoulder again. "Just go out there tonight and be yourself, and who knows? Maybe one of the princesses will surprise you." 

"I'm not so sure about that," Fitz said wryly, but he reached up to squeeze his mother's hand back. 

He might hate simpering princesses and brain-dead, inane conversations with his whole being, but for the good of the kingdom, and for the love of his mother, he would go to this ball tonight despite it all. 

// 

Half an hour into the ball, Fitz could definitively say that his mother had, in fact, been wrong. None of the princesses here had succeeded to surprise him in any way - it was all, "oh, my lord, how very _handsome_ you look in this waistcoat!"

Honestly, he couldn't see the appeal. It was just a _waistcoat._

But apparently, each and every princess here was absolutely fascinated by it - and expected him to pay the same rapt attention to _their_ clothing, in turn. 

Fitz tried, he really did. He just… really, really didn't care about the latest cuts and colours, and he was sick and tired of fluttering eyelashes and wide-eyed, simpering cooing. 

Was it so bad of him that he wanted to talk to someone who wouldn't _agree_ with him the whole time? Or, heaven forbid, have a conversation about something that actually _interested_ him? 

There was a bit of a rustling at the ballroom doors, and Fitz didn't even bother to look up, knowing perfectly well what he would see - another beribboned princess arriving late with the intention of catching his attention. 

If he had a penny for every time this had happened… actually, he kind of wished he _did_ , because then all their kingdom's financial problems would be solved. 

As though she had sensed the mutinous direction of his thoughts, his mother floated over, hiding her exasperation behind a flute of champagne and an easy, practiced smile. "Fitz…" she said from the side of her mouth, raising her glass at Duke Gonzalez from across the room. 

He squeezed the bridge of his nose. "I know I said I'd mingle, Mum, but -" 

"But you've barely even spoken with two princesses tonight," she cut him off, the arch of her eyebrows all exasperation despite the pleasant smile on her face. 

He stared at the floor, glumly swirling the champagne around in his glass. 

"Go talk to the princess who just arrived," his mother urged, drifting just a bit closer so she could nudge his shoulder. "Ask her to dance."

Fitz's head shot up, a protest bubbling on his lips, but his mother's smile was serene as she curled her fingers at the princess in blue, beckoning her over. 

"Hello, my dear," she said kindly, smiling warmly at the woman as she arrived and dipped into a curtsey. "My son has something he would like to ask you." 

Fitz bit the inside of his cheek to keep from scowling, and the princess straightened, her lively brown eyes looking over at Fitz with bright interest. 

He cleared his throat, and did his best to clear his expression as well. "Yes, indeed," he said, extending his hand towards her and pasting on his best courtly smile, though he was afraid it came out rather more like a grimace. "Would you care to dance?" 

"I would be honoured," the princess said, her voice surprisingly down-to-earth and certain - not at all the gushing simper he had been expecting. 

He masked his surprise as best he could and took her arm, beginning to lead her onto the dancefloor. 

The room cleared for him when they realised the prince had chosen his partner, hushed whisperings following them as they made their way into the centre of the dancefloor. The princess in blue handled it remarkably well, keeping her eyes on him and a smile on her lips, but not letting it all get to her head. 

Fitz unhooked his arm from the princess's, bowing deeply as a courtly waltz began to play. 

She echoed him with a curtsey, slipping her hand into his as she rose. 

Fitz felt a little tingle go up his arm as their fingers touched, and instantly felt annoyed at himself. _Pull yourself together,_ he told himself sternly. _Just because she's pretty doesn't mean she's any different._

Because this princess was certainly very pretty - soft brown curls that perfectly framed her face, a warm, welcoming smile, and bright hazel eyes. 

She was exactly his type, actually. 

Too bad she was a _princess._

 _One-two-three._ The waltz music started properly, and Fitz moved into the familiar steps of the dance, relieved when the princess followed immediately. 

He wasn't a _bad_ dancer, per se - but he wasn't particularly _good_ , either. It was always a reassurance to have a partner he could work with easily. 

Oh, right. Partner. He should probably say something to her, shouldn’t he? 

He cleared his throat, willing his brain to snap into a princely mindset. "My lady, your dress is simply exquisite," he said, offering her a small, come-on-Fitz-you-can-do-this-it's-just-one-dance kind of smile. 

The princess brushed a hand across the silky blue fabric of her dress, raising one shoulder and giving him a wry smile. "I'm glad you think so," she said. "Though I must confess, I am by no means an expert." 

Fitz was taken aback. "Indeed?" he asked, somewhat idiotically. 

The princess laughed a little, ducking her head. "I'm afraid I've always been more interested in the makeup of the dress than in the actual appearance of it." 

"So you like to sew?" he asked, trying not to grimace. 

She laughed again, and he found that he really liked the sound of her laugh, warm and genuine. "No, no, you misunderstand me," she said. "The _chemical_ makeup of the materials is what intrigues me." 

If he hadn't had years of diplomatic training under his belt, he was sure his mouth would have dropped open. "Th-the chemical makeup?" he stuttered. "You're interested in… chemistry?" 

"Well, biochemistry, to be precise," she said, her voice floating over her shoulder as she spun away from him. "But there's such a limited access to it in my position that I'll take whatever I can get." 

She spun back into his arms, and Fitz dipped her low, leaning down after her so he could tell her, "I know exactly what you mean! I'm something of an engineer myself." 

The princess's eyes lit up as she straightened up from her dip. "Really?" she asked, a little breathless as she twirled under his arm. 

He caught her smoothly, his hand at her waist tingling all over again. "Really." 

She laughed, the sound pure and delighted - and that was the moment that Fitz decided that she really _was_ different. 

Maybe it was the way she held herself, proper and upright but without a hint of arrogance. Maybe it was the way she smiled, warm and honest and without any pretentiousness. Maybe it was the way her eyes shone with the spark of genuine and bright _intelligence._ Maybe it was a combination of all three.

But whatever it was, Fitz found himself thinking that an evening spent in her company wouldn't be the worst evening of his life. 

"Would you honour me with the next dance as well?" he found himself asking. 

She smiled radiantly. "My lord, I would _love_ to." 

He didn't know what it was about her simple reply that made him smile so much, but as she rose from her final dip, he found himself grinning at her like he might never stop. 

She smiled back, and something in his stomach flipped. _Wow._

Clearing his throat to try and regain some sense of normality, he took advantage of the brief pause in the music to say, "So, uh, a princess and a biochemist? That’s not something you hear every day.”

She chuckled, but he thought she looked pleased. “I suppose not. You see, the palace where I grew up had a very well-equipped lab, and I used to be fascinated by all the bubbling tubes and vials. I kept asking questions - so many questions - and by the by, I started learning more and more, until one day the head researcher couldn’t answer my question.”

She dipped into an elegant curtsey without a moment’s pause as the music started up again, and he winced as he realised he had been so absorbed in her story that he had completely forgotten to bow. He reached for her hand again, squeezing it silently in apology.

She didn’t seem to mind too much, offering him a small smile before continuing. “Madame Weaver, our head of research, told me that if I really wanted, I could stay in the lab and work out the answer to the question myself. She said I wouldn’t be bothering anyone, and it might actually turn out very useful if I solved it.”

She paused for a breath, leaning fractionally into his arms around her waist, and he took the opportunity to ask, partially because he was genuinely interested, and partially because he found he really liked the sensation of her leaning against him, and he didn’t want her to move away too soon - “What was the question?” 

“Well, I was curious about why potassium didn’t show all the chemical properties it should based on its position in Hall’s arrangement of the elements, so I set up a series of reactions to test its reactivity against water and carbon,” she explained, her eyes lighting up in a way Fitz had only seen before when he happened to glance up in the middle of tinkering with a model.

He found himself grinning, too. “That’s really smart,” he said. “And I can bet it helped your scientists, too.”

She beamed. “It did. And it was the moment that changed everything for me - when I saw that I could really make a difference, with my _mind_ instead of with my… dress.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle wryly at that one, nudging her shoulder gently with his. “Well said.”

She nudged his shoulder back, and he had to actively remind himself not to read too much into it. “Well, what about you?” she asked, her bright smile not doing much to help his skittering heart. “How did you get into science?”

Well, _there_ was something that could definitely distract him. 

“For me, it was something I could escape to,” he confessed. “I’ve never been the most athletic, or the best at remembering the royal houses, so when one of the advisers brought a model of a steam train into court, it was a shock to everyone when I could just _see_ what was wrong with it.”

“It’s not as though it was _complicated,_ or anything,” he said. “But anyone _should_ have been able to see that they put one of the springs facing the other direction as all the others, and that was what was creating the flaw.”

She had to twirl away from him, but she tilted her head back to let him know she was still listening, her hair flowing out behind her as she beamed at him.

His heart stuttered. _Beautiful._

“That, uh…” he said, momentarily lost for words. He cleared his throat. “I…”

Then she was back in his arms, her bright, curious eyes fixed properly on his again, and it was like his brain cleared. “That was the moment I realised I _wasn’t_ useless, like my father used to tell me,” he said. “There was something I could be _good_ at. Because engineering… it’s all logic. It’s nothing like trying to navigate a political conversation, or memorising the title of a duke’s third son.” He grimaced just at the thought. 

“It just makes _sense,”_ he finished. “And it’s a really good distraction for when court life gets too…”

Unable to find the words, he twirled a finger around his temple, widening his eyes dramatically.

She laughed, but her gaze was piqued with interest. “So, are you working on anything specific at the moment?”

He could have hugged her - she was close enough already, goodness knew, and besides, this was _just_ the sort of conversation he had wanted to have for _weeks,_ now. 

“I am, actually,” he said. “I’m trying to work out how to make a steam engine smaller and more compact, but simultaneously more powerful - so a train can draw more carriages, but require less fuel.”

She hummed with interest. “And what have you come up with so far?”

“Well, I’ve managed to shrink the prototype for the actual machine right down,” he said, “but I just can’t seem to figure out how to make the combustion chamber any smaller. In order for less coal to be used, there would have to be a more powerful catalyst, and the only thing I could think of was allowing more oxygen into the reaction. Problem is, then I need to _get_ the oxygen there, and the only way to do that is to decompose sodium chloride -”

“Potassium permanganate,” she cut him off before he could even finish explaining how the sodium chloride needed a whole separate reacting chamber. “Use potassium permanganate.”

He blinked. “What?”

She tapped her fingers against his chest, her eyes shining. “Potassium permanganate, Fitz! The reaction is _much_ less exothermic than sodium chloride’s, so the chamber only needs to be half the size.”

Fitz’s jaw dropped, and he almost forgot to keep dancing for a moment as his mind ran through the calculations. 

"Half the size," he breathed. "But the same level of effectiveness -" 

"More, actually," she interrupted. "My experiments show that potassium is the _most_ reactive metal in a general series." 

He shook his head slowly, his whole body thrumming with an undercurrent of intense delight. "You are a _genius,"_ he told her fervently. 

She laughed, blushing slightly, and even in his euphoric invention-focused mindset, he still noticed how incredibly _beautiful_ it made her look. 

He decided right then that he _had_ to see more of her looking like that. 

As luck would have it, the music stopped just then, and as soon as the curtseys and bows were over and done with, he stepped forward and offered her his arm. "Do you perhaps want to come up to my laboratory so we can test out the prototype?" 

Her eyes widened, and for a second he thought he had made a big mistake, and this was somehow very improper. 

But then she beamed, radiant and excited, slipping her arm through his. "Nothing would make me happier." 

He put his hand on top of hers for a moment, trying to ignore the way it made little tingles shoot through his entire body, and then started to lead her out of the ballroom and into the gardens, figuring that would be the fastest way to the laboratory. 

Muffled whispers followed them, and Fitz saw surprised delight in his mother's eyes as she watched him leave. 

"Everyone thinks we're going for a romantic walk in the gardens," the princess in blue told him under her breath as they made it to the door - but he was pleased to note that she didn't move to pull away from him at all. 

He touched her hand again, quick and comforting. "Let them think what they want," he said. " _We_ have a prototype to build." 

That was enough to put the sparkle back in her eyes, and they half-ran, half-tripped their way across the expansive gardens to the laboratory. 

Fitz had to struggle with the key for a second, but when he got it open, it was worth every second. The second she stepped inside the lab, the princess’s whole demeanor changed - relaxed completely, and became more comfortable by _far_ than she had been in the ballroom, where there had been just a hint of tension in her shoulders. He hadn’t noticed it then, but _now_ it was clear - _this_ was where she felt at home.

She _looked_ at home, too - like she knew her way around without any problems, and more than that, like she _belonged_ here.

It was exactly how he felt whenever he stepped into a lab, and the thought made something in his heart shift and fill with warmth.

"Is this it? The prototype?" she asked, jolting him from his thoughts.

She tilted her head at a miniature engine perched in the middle of the biggest table, its covering open to show the complex wiring and combustion chamber inside. 

He nodded, and she started to inspect it immediately, clicking her tongue as she studied the large combustion chamber attached to it. 

“So if I’m right, you’ll need… about five ounces of potassium permanganate?” she asked, studying the design critically.

Fitz ran a few quick calculations in his head, then nodded, impressed by how quickly and accurately she had reached the answer. “Sounds about right.”

“Excellent,” she said, offering him a tiny smile. “And, by the way, this engine’s design is genius - I never would have thought of _inverting_ the flywheel piston.”

She had _noticed!_ He didn’t have the words to describe the amount of delight that brought him. 

No-one had ever noticed that before, and it was so _frustrating,_ because it really was a genius change, if he did say so himself - small, but _so_ significant.

“Yeah, well,” he said, walking over to join her next to the engine prototype, “I never would have thought of using potassium permanganate.”

She tilted her head sideways to look at him, her eyes sparkling and a small grin tugging at her lips. “Looks like we make a good team, then.”

 _“Definitely,”_ he agreed emphatically. “I’d even say we’re twice as smart together!”

“Well, we can’t know that for sure until we test it,” she pointed out.

“Good point,” he agreed. “Would you get the permanganate ready -”

“While you adjust the chamber, on it,” she agreed, already making her way over to the racks of chemical equipment.

Fitz watched her go, unable to stop the grin that was spreading across his face. _Incredible._

He had never, _never_ thought he would meet someone like her - someone who not only _understood_ his love for science, but was his equal in terms of proficiency. It was a dream come true, really.

And what made it even more so was how _comfortable_ he felt with her - like every part of him matched up perfectly with every part of her. 

Like they really were _meant_ for each other, in the way his mother had always said he would find someone.

The thought made his grin melt into a soft smile, which didn’t fade for the whole half-hour they were working side-by-side. 

"Done," he said, at exactly the same moment as she turned around to say the same thing. 

They blinked at each other for a moment, surprised - then she beamed. "Well, in that case - let’s do this!”

She held up a little beaker containing the potassium manganate, flashing him an excited grin as she started to pour it carefully into the miniature combustion chamber. 

Fitz shifted so that he was standing behind her, steadying her as she worked carefully with the salt crystals - and once again, he just had to marvel at how perfectly she fit against him, how effortlessly they worked together. 

It just felt so natural, so _right._

As she finished pouring in the crystals, Fitz leaned over to position the combustion chamber properly in his engine, smiling as she laid one hand on his back - _her_ turn to steady _him._ When it was fixed in place to his satisfaction, he closed the device and stepped back to admire his handiwork. 

"There," he said, feeling an enormous rush of satisfaction as the combustion chamber started to glow a deep red. 

She half-tilted her head back so he could see her grinning, warm and genuine, and he found himself overcome by a rush of fondness - there was _no_ way he could have done this without her. 

She was… she was incomparable. 

"There's really no-one like you," he told her, soft and sincere. 

“I could say the same for you, Prince Leopold,” she retorted teasingly.

He winced, and she noticed immediately, drifting half a step closer. “Did… I say something wrong?” she asked uncertainly.

“No, no,” he assured her, trying for a smile. “It’s just - I haven’t gone by Leopold since my father abdicated.”

The princess’s eyes widened. “I’m so sorry,” she breathed. “I had no idea -”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, ducking his head uncomfortably. “My mother and I are fine without him. Better, actually. I just… I go by Fitz now.”

“Fitz,” she repeated, looking him up and down thoughtfully. “It suits you.”

“Thanks,” he said with a wry smile - and mere seconds later, he wanted to _kick_ himself, because he had just realised he didn't even know her name. He was so comfortable with her, and he didn't even know her _name -_ how was that _possible?_

Hoping to make up for it immediately, he asked, “What, uh, what can I call you?”

Was it his imagination, or did she hesitate for a second? “Simmons,” she decided after a moment. “If you’re Fitz, I’ll go by Simmons.”

“Simmons,” he echoed, searching his brain to place the kingdom where the royal family had the name Simmons. He came up blank, but that didn’t mean too much - he had never been the best student in royal affairs.

She smiled up at him, but he thought it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

 _I made her uncomfortable with the father thing, didn’t I?_ he thought, silently cursing himself. Making her uncomfortable had been the _last_ thing he wanted. 

"Hey," he said, reaching out to brush his fingers lightly against her arm, and feeling goosebumps rise on his own arm. "Simmons? Don't, uh, don't feel bad about my father. It was a long time ago, and besides… tonight was the best I've felt in a _long_ time." 

He nudged her hip with his, needing her to know just how much he meant it, just how _happy_ he was in that moment. 

But it was _nothing_ compared to the way he felt when she smiled up at him, tentative but warm, so _warm_ and full of affection.

"This was the best I've felt in a long time, too," she agreed, her voice soft but full of so many layers of _emotion_ \- gratitude, wonder, contentment. 

He found himself drifting a little closer to her, shifting to close some of the distance between them and raising his gaze carefully to meet hers. She held his gaze, steady and warm, and as the moment stretched, neither of them looking away, the air between them started to feel charged, expectant.

Right as they were on the verge of -- _something_ , the little model train let out a piercing whistle. 

Both Fitz and Simmons jumped, turning around to face it with matching expressions of shock - which quickly morphed into awe as they realised what was going on. 

"It _works,"_ she breathed, her voice rich with wonder. "Fitz, it works! We did it!" 

"We did it," he agreed, watching in half-incredulous awe as the little train rattled along the table. It was unsteady, yes, but it was _moving,_ really _moving,_ a small plume of smoke trailing along behind it.

They had done it. They really had. Together, they had _done_ it! 

She turned to him, and her face was _radiant_ with the wonder, the joy and the triumph of success - and he could have sworn that his heart stopped for one electric second. 

He had _never_ seen her look more beautiful, and that was saying something, because he had been noticing it all night. 

But right now, flushed with success and her eyes alight with the kind of delight that only science could ever bring -

It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, both on _her_ and because of what it meant him. 

Their gazes caught and held, and Fitz could see that she felt it too - 

And before he really had time to process what he was doing, he stepped forward and kissed her, his hands gripping her waist as he pulled flush against him. 

Half a second later, he let her go, stepping back with his hands half-awkwardly still in the air, an apology already starting to form on his lips - but the look on her face stopped him short. 

She stepped forward this time, closing the distance between them and wrapping her arms around his neck, cradling his cheeks as she kissed him again. 

His hands moved naturally to rest around her waist and against the small of her back, and as he held her close close _close,_ his every sense alight with the feeling of _her,_ nothing had ever felt more _right._

But then she was stepping away, her eyes widening as a sharp panic set in. "Oh, no," she breathed, bringing a trembling hand up to brush against her lips. "Oh, no, no, no -"

"What is it?" he asked, stepping towards her immediately and reaching out to cup her cheek in his hand. 

She backpedalled so fast that she nearly crashed into the table, shaking her head desperately. "Fitz, I'm so, _so_ sorry," she whispered, her eyes filled with anguish. 

And before he could even begin to form the words "what's the _matter?!"_ she turned and fled out of the laboratory, her blue dress billowing out behind her. 

It took him a second of mute shock, but then he was running after her, sprinting faster than he had ever sprinted before in his life. _"Wait!"_ he shouted after her, his breath catching desperately in his chest. "I don't - wait!!" 

She glanced over her shoulder at him mid-run, and he was shocked to see her eyes were sparkling with tears. "I'm so sorry," she mouthed again. And then - "I should never have come here." 

"What do you _mean?"_ he cried after her, but she didn't reply, even as she tripped and nearly went tumbling down the stairs. 

She regained her balance, and then she was running, running, running; down the stairs and away, away, away. 

Frozen in shock and disbelief, all he could do was watch her go, watch until the blue of her dress had disappeared completely into the night - and the only sign that she had ever been there at all was the slight tingling of his lips, and a single glass slipper lying crystal-bright on the third-from-bottom step. 

// 

“So tell it to me again,” his mother said in a tone of forced patience, pinching the bridge of her nose as she tried to puzzle through it all.

Fitz turned around sharply as he reached the end of the throne room, resuming his angry pacing in the other direction. “We danced. We talked. We bonded. We upgraded a model train together. We… kissed. She left.”

“And you only thought to get her name, what, ten steps into the process?” his mother asked pointedly. “Her _surname_ only, I might add? And not even a surname belonging to any prominent royal families, either.”

“Er…” He didn’t really have an excuse for that one. “It didn’t feel like we _needed_ it. Not immediately, at least.”

 _“That_ is what I don’t understand,” his mother exploded. “The _first_ thing you should have been thinking of is her name! I thought I drummed it into you that we need an _alliance,_ and you didn’t even find out what kingdom she’s from!”

“And,” she added, her voice much softer this time, “if you had her name, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.”

Fitz looked at the floor, feeling wholeheartedly ashamed of himself. Alright, so maybe he _hadn’t_ been at his most logical last night.

But... finding someone who _got_ it, who understood his passion for science and _shared_ it - that was all he had been able to think about for the entirety of that perfect evening.

Well. At least, it had _been_ perfect until she had run away, for _no_ reason.

And the only clue he had was -. 

“Glass,” his mother was saying, obviously having followed the same line of thought. She shook her head slowly. “I just don’t understand it, why would you use _glass -”_

Fitz froze mid-angry step as his mother’s words registered in his brain.

 _Glass_. Yes, that _was_ a good point - why would anyone use _glass_ for a _shoe?_

Unless…

Half-sprinting over to the table, he picked up the glass shoe and held it up to the light, studying it from all angles with a suddenly furious intent.

“Fitz?” his mother asked, obviously picking up that something had changed. “Fitz, dear, is everything -”

“I need to get to the lab,” he said, snapping his gaze up to meet hers. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense to use glass - unless this _isn’t_ regular glass.”

“I don’t…” his mother’s voice trailed away as he exited the throne room at a dead run.

Fitz crossed the gardens and slammed into the door of the lab, unlocking it with fingers that were shaking almost too much to hold the key. That _bloody_ key, with the way it always stuck in the lock -

There. Open.

Shoving his way in, he rushed over to the chemical analysis station, trying to ignore the way his heart twinged at the image of Simmons preparing a beakerful of potassium permanganate there.

_Not the point right now._

He wasn’t an expert in chemistry by any means, but if he was right about this -

Feeling only a small shred of remorse, he smashed the glass slipper into tiny fragments against the table.

 _“Fitz!”_ his mother exclaimed, aghast, rounding the corner just in time to see the delicate glass shatter.

“It’s the only way,” he explained as quickly as he could, his fingers a blur of motion as he sorted the shards into ten different piles.

“What are you -” his mother began, but he held up one hand, cutting her off.

He would need all his concentration for this.

Going over to the bookshelf on the far side of the lab, he pulled off a thick, leatherbound copy of _Practical Chemical Analysis_ by H. Radcliffe. Skimming quickly through the index, he tapped the page twice when he found what he was looking for.

He was vaguely aware of his mother watching him with her mouth open, but he focused every last scrap of his attention on preparing the samples he would need, mixing chemicals in lightning-fast calculated ratios, adding this liquid to that and shaking here, applying heat there. 

When he was done, he poured a little pile of glass into each of his ten beakers, threading his hands through his hair and blowing out a long, anxious breath as he finally let himself step back.

Just as he was starting to think he had done something wrong, or maybe he had been mistaken about this after all --

_There._

The left-most beaker turned a bright, vivid pink.

Fitz turned around to face his mother, feeling his whole body slump in relief as his burst of frenetic energy faded. “I’ve found her,” he said, unable to keep from grinning in sheer relief. “I’ve _found_ her.”

His mother gasped, then rushed across to hug him tightly. “Fitz, my genius boy,” she said into his shoulder, pulling away to beam proudly at him. “So where is she?”

He patted his mother’s back, and then he was out of the door, already making his way to the stables. “The Shieldlands.”

// 

The journey to the Shieldlands took eight hours on an average day, riding a full-size charger. Fitz made it in three.

He swept up in front of the palace in a clatter of hooves and a cloud of dust, dismounting from his horse without even bothering to see if anyone was coming to attend to it.

All protocol dictated that he should have written ahead, or at least _knocked_ \- but protocol was the last thing on his mind as he burst through the doors of the castle and into the main hall.

The whole room seemed to freeze in pure shock as he burst in, people pausing with spoons half-way to their mouths and goblets of wine half-way to their lips as they gaped at him. There was a woman sitting at the head of the table, clad in a gown of stunning purple that made her skin glow a dusty gold, and she stood up sharply at the sight of him.

His gaze caught on her for a second, but, no, it wasn’t _Simmons._ Simmons’s hair was longer, and her complexion was lighter. 

Her eyes were different, too - this woman’s gaze was cool and calculating, a warrior’s gaze, whereas Simmons’s had been warm and compassionate. 

Wanting to curse, Fitz scanned the room frantically, searching desperately for any sign of warm, familiar brown eyes -

The doors crashed open again, and this time it was a squadron of guards, pelting in after him and grabbing him by the arms.

“Let go of me,” he snapped, shaking his arms free. “I am Prince Leopold Fitz, and I am here to see your princess.” 

The woman in purple made a slashing motion with her hand, and the guards let go of him at once.

“That’s a bold move, Your Highness,” she said, and her voice held the ring of authority as she walked slowly over to him, her steps ringing powerfully through the hall. “But I suppose you may speak your piece.”

“I’m sorry,” he stammered, “wh-what? I want to speak to -”

“The princess, yes, yes,” she said, half-rolling her eyes before seemingly remembering herself. “Well, here I am.”

When he continued to gape at her, dumbfounded, she really did roll her eyes.

“Find your tongue, Your Highness! You asked to speak with me, so _speak.”_

“B-but…” he stuttered. “B-but you’re not -”

She folded her arms, her gaze cool and challenging. “I am Princess Daisy Coulson-May, heir of the Shieldlands, and this is your _last_ chance to say something to redeem yourself.”

He felt as though the rug had been ripped right out from under his feet. “Coulson-May? But I thought -”

“Oh, you thought,” she said, her eyes widening slightly. “There’s a surprise.”

If he hadn’t been so shocked, Fitz might have snickered. This Princess Daisy certainly had character.

As it was, he did his best to recover himself. “Pardon me, my lady,” he said sincerely, bowing his head. “It seems there’s been a terrible misunderstanding.”

Princess Daisy arched her eyebrows. “So you _didn’t_ mean to interrupt my luncheon so rudely?”

He winced. “Er… no. I was actually looking for someone else.”

“Really?” she asked, immediately looking about two times less hostile and three times more curious. 

“Yes,” he said, ducking his head to study the little eagle patterns in the carpet. “Oh, it’s so stupid. I did a chemical analysis on a glass slipper, and I thought it pointed here.”

He shook his head wryly. “Yeah, it was really stupid. I have no idea why I thought I even -”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Princess Daisy cut him off, her eyes widening slowly. “Did you just say a _glass slipper?”_

“Er… yes?” he said, not sure where this was going.

Her eyes flew wide, and it hit Fitz that if she was reacting like _that,_ she _had_ to know who he was talking about.

Taking a step forward, he said urgently, “I’m looking for a woman who was wearing those glass slippers. I don’t know her name, but her surname is -”

“Simmons,” Daisy finished for him, giving a small, incredulous smile. “Her name is Jemma Simmons.”

_Jemma Simmons. Yes._

He couldn’t describe it, but the name felt _right,_ like it was the only name that could possibly suit her.

“Do you know her?” he asked Daisy, more urgently than ever now. “Do you know where she is?”

Daisy rubbed a hand across her forehead. “Yes and yes,” she said, and then she bit her lip. “Do you want to sit down? There’s a _lot_ I need to explain.”

Nodding quickly, Fitz found an empty seat at the long table and sat down, facing her expectantly.

Daisy settled on the throne on the far side of the hall, and took a deep breath, her eyes flickering around the room once before coming to rest on him again. “I was supposed to attend a ball at your castle last night,” she told him directly. “But I had no inclination to go, so I… sent Jemma in my place.”

One of the people at the table, a big man with an axe resting against his leg that contrasted completely with his kind eyes, exhaled a long, exasperated breath. _“Daisy.”_

“Sorry, Mack,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “But I’m sick and _tired_ of being treated like a delicate little flower whose only worth is who I marry.”

Fitz grimaced. “That sounds familiar. Except, you know, with _waistcoats.”_

Daisy laughed, her eyes lighting up with amusement. “Oh, I like you.”

But she sobered quickly. “Last night was supposed to be my eighteenth ball in eighteen days,” she said. “The Shieldlands have been fighting with the Kingdom of Hydra for a long time now, and though our coffers are full, we desperately need an alliance. And as I’m sure you know, the only way to do that is through marriage.”

Fitz grimaced in agreement.

“I want to do my part to help my people,” she said, twisting her hands in her lap. “But there’s _no_ part of me who wants to get married to some stupid prince.”

“Not that I think you’re stupid,” she hastened to assure him. “It’s just… if someone has to rule my people after my parents, I want it to be _me,_ not my husband.”

“That sounds perfectly reasonable to me,” Fitz said, because really, it did.

Daisy shot him a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Anyway,” she continued with her story. “For the last seventeen nights, I’ve had to suffer through dance after dance with a row of idiots who couldn’t care less about _me._ All _they_ wanted was my throne, and a pretty trophy to sit next to them.”

Her lip curled. “And I was getting sick of it. So last night, I asked Jemma if she wouldn’t go in my place - then I could work some of my frustration out in the dojo, and she could have her shot at a romantic dance with a prince.”

Her eyes softened. “She’s always been a romantic like that. I told her princes aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, but it was still a dream of hers to have the whole fairytale ball experience.”

“So I told her last night was her chance. She didn’t want to go at first, because she said, and I quote, _‘I can’t be involved in your crazy shenanigans! I like following the rules and protocols, it makes me feel nice.’”_

Her lips quirked. “But then I told her there was no way I’d marry this prince anyway, so she could have her romantic dream at no-one’s expense. So I loaned her one of my blue dresses, and she designed a unique polymer of glass for her slippers because none of mine would fit her."

“So that's how I was able to track her down,” Fitz interrupted, nodding slowly as the pieces came together in his head. “She used pyrites specific to the Shieldlands mountains to create the polymer." 

Everything made sense now! Except... "That’s all very well and good," he said slowly, "but who _is_ Jemma, exactly?”

“I’m Daisy’s maidservant,” a wonderfully warm, familiar voice said, and Simmons - _Jemma_ \- stepped out from the shadows, clad in a simple brown dress.

It was nothing near as fancy as the stunning blue gown she had been wearing last night, but hell if her face wasn’t the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.

 _“Simmons,”_ he breathed, on his feet before he knew what was happening and rushing over the room to her.

She held up her hands, and he stopped half-way, confused and more hurt than he would like to say.

“I’m so, so sorry for deceiving you, Fitz,” she said, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor. “I let you believe that I was a princess, and then you… you...”

She swallowed, unable to find the words.

Fitz watched her, frozen, feeling a confusing rush of emotions coursing through him. On the one hand, yes, she _had_ deceived him. She had never expressly told him she was a princess, but she hadn’t denied it, and that was just as bad.

But on the other hand… her love for science, and her genuine skill for it, _that_ had been real.

And that was what had drawn him to her in the first place, wasn’t it? 

That, and the way they just _fit._

And that - that was another thing you couldn’t possibly fake.

Daisy was speaking, he realised with a jolt, and he tuned out of his thoughts to pay attention to her words.

“ - blame Jemma,” she was saying. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine - I’m the one who persuaded Jemma to go last night.”

Wait… she thought he was _angry?_

He glanced around and saw that the whole court was watching him with tense, drawn faces.

Right. _Right._ There had technically been a rather large identity fraud here, and they all probably thought he was going to attack them for it, or something.

Well, they couldn’t be more wrong.

Titles and land, wealth and protocols - they had never _mattered_ to him. Three things were important to him: his mother, his people, and his science. 

Actually, no, make that four things. His mother, his people, his science, and _Jemma._

Because seeing her again, and hearing the sound of her voice again? It had felt like coming home.

It really was like all those stories his mother had always told him - how, one day, he would find someone who made his world turn, who fitted with him in every way it was possible to imagine.

His soulmate. The _one._

He might only have known her for a short time, but he had never been more certain of anything in his life: Jemma Simmons was _the one._

“I think I know how we can solve this whole mess,” he said to Daisy and to the court at large.

“What?” Daisy asked, leaning forward on her throne.

“You don’t want to marry a prince, but you need an alliance,” he said, and she nodded. “Well, I don’t want to marry a princess, and I also need an alliance.”

Daisy’s eyes widened as she started to understand what he was saying. “So you think it’s possible for us to make an alliance _without_ getting married?”

“I really don’t see why not,” he said. “If you’re willing, and I’m willing…”

“I’m _more_ than willing,” Daisy said, and to his total shock, she leapt up from the throne and threw her arms around him. “You’re a genius,” she murmured into his shoulder.

He patted her back awkwardly. “Thanks.”

Daisy took a step back, then addressed the court at large, her voice ringing powerfully through the hall. “Prince Leopold Fitz,” she said, “I, Daisy Coulson-May of the Shieldlands, hereby offer you my allegiance, and that of my country, _without_ the bloody nonsense of a marriage alliance.”

The big man, Mack, hid his face in his hands at her wording, but Fitz was grinning.

“I, Leopold James Fitz, formally accept your alliance and offer you my own,” he said. “Though... I would very much like to seal it with a marriage.”

Daisy’s eyebrows started to raise, but then her eyes shifted to Jemma, and she clapped a hand over her mouth in pure delight as she realised what he meant.

“Jemma Simmons,” Fitz said, walking over to her and sinking to one knee in front of her. 

She clapped her hands over her mouth, mirroring Daisy, but her eyes were shining with happy tears.

“I know it’s very soon,” he told her, looking earnestly up at her. "But it feels like we've known each other for… a lifetime, really. I've just… I've never had this before; someone who understands me mind, body and soul." 

She nodded, her eyes still full of incredulous disbelief, but also understanding and agreement, whole-hearted agreement.

He took strength from it and smiled up at her, reaching for her hand and feeling a flood of giddy tingles shoot down the length of his arm at the contact. "So I'm asking you, heart in hand - Jemma Simmons, will you marry me?" 

_"Yes,"_ she breathed, her eyes shining with happy tears. "Yes, of course I will!" 

And then she was laughing, and he was laughing, and straightening up, and somewhere along the way they met in the middle, kissing like they still couldn't believe it was real. 

A part of Fitz _couldn't_ believe it - but Jemma's body was warm against him, lined up perfectly with his, and he could feel her smile against his lips as they kept kissing, passionately tender. 

They were never getting ripped apart again. 

And he knew with all his heart: he couldn't wait to start this partnership together. 

_**The End.**_


End file.
